


I Spy

by tenandi



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Binoculars, Pervy Crowley, Shameless Smut, Spying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-20 04:51:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20669624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenandi/pseuds/tenandi
Summary: Crowley likes to look at his neighbors. There's one in particular he really, really likes to watch.One-shot.





	I Spy

Crowley stared eagerly out of his highrise window, waiting for something interesting to happen. He often played this game of “I Spy,” in his downtime. Sometimes he watched the bizarre fitness enthusiast who ran on his treadmill while lifting dumbbells above his head. Not the brightest idea. Other times he’d watch the large Irish family as they nearly came to blows during family meals. But his favorite, oh his very favorite, was the blonde.

He hadn’t quite figured him out yet, but the fact that his window was directly across from Crowley’s vastly improved the redhead’s awareness of his neighbor. He wondered if sometimes, the blonde left his curtains open on purpose. Did he enjoy the idea that other people might be watching him? Had he ever looked over and seen Crowley doing just that? The thought made him shiver with pleasure.

Unlike his other people-watching games, the blonde brought about an intense and insatiable curiosity in Crowley, one definitely linked with a surge of dopamine that unleashed everytime the slightly chubby man arrived home. Crowley had never fancied a man before. In fact, he’d never really fancied anyone. But this man held his attention in the most delicious way.

Crowley watched the blonde make his way through his flat. It looked like he was putting some music on with an antique record player. Crowley smiled as the blonde swayed to the music and wrapped his arms around himself. Crowley wondered what it would it feel like to enclose his own arms around the mysterious man. He looked like an angel.

“Angel,” Crowley said aloud, trying it out. It fit like a glove. He let one hand rest against the cool glass window and splayed out his fingers.

The angel unfolded himself and went to peruse his endless library along the far wall. Crowley’s fingers twitched as he finally remembered his birthday present to himself. A pair of high-end binoculars purchased just for this occasion. He’d been itching to find out what books his angel liked to read.

He pulls out the binoculars and angles them toward his face, taking a long look at the shelves. Classic literature, mostly. Many titles he doesn’t recognize. He watches the angel settle on a selection at last and drop himself onto his cozy-looking sofa. Oscar Wilde, Crowley notices with a smile.

This is all part of the angel’s daily routine. He returns home from work, puts on an album, and settles down with a good book. He’ll make tea in the next hour, then eventually, scuttle off to bed for the night. It fills Crowley with a warm feeling to know how predictable the blonde is. Except now he’s tossing the book to one side. Perhaps it’s not as interesting as he had thought. Surely he’ll select another instead, but no.

Crowley licks his lips as the angel sinks further into the couch, his hands coming up to rake through his soft blonde curls. Crowley wants to do the same. A spike of excitement wrecks Crowley’s body as he sees his angel’s hands start to roam down over his chest and torso. They rake over his shapely thighs and dig into the skin beneath. His eyes are closed. To his amazement, the angel slowly unbelts his pants and rubs over his lap enticingly.

Crowley jumps out of his skin and throws the binoculars down, feeling scandalized. His heart is beating out of his chest. He can’t watch that. He can’t...right? So how did the binoculars get back into his hot hand again? Why is he gazing through the window once more? A small moan escapes from the back of his throat.

The blonde is stroking his hand over his freed erection. Slowly at first, then speeding up as his hips start to buck into the air. Crowley can imagine the kinds of noises he must be making. The thought of it makes him hard too. The redhead feels his left hand sneak down to cover the front of his jeans, rubbing tentatively.

“Like that?” he asks aloud. His angel seems to respond in kind, letting his head fall to one side and gasping soundlessly.

Crowley’s hand moves inside his pants and strokes profusely. “Yes,” he whispers. “You like it when I do that to you, don’t you? Not such an angel after all.”

The blonde is reaching down with his other hand to cup his balls, kneading at the sensitive flesh between his legs. Crowley lets out a low grunt and impatiently drops his trousers to get a better grip on himself. He imagines being there in the angel’s flat, taking him into his mouth and sucking hard.

The angel twitches as his rhythm stutters.

“Not yet baby,” Crowley cooes. “Not until I’ve had my fill. Turn over for me. Do that thing I like.”

To his amazement, the blonde lifts his body from the sofa and resettles on his knees. He glances behind him coyly as if there’s an imaginary figure there.

“God, yes,” Crowley breathes. He can’t seem to get enough friction. He grabs a bottle of lube from his desk drawer and fills his hand with scented oil. It rolls over his hot flesh, melting on contact. He feels his pleasure mounting.

The angel is still tugging at himself, jerking his hips back and forth like he's being fucked from behind. Crowley gasps at the thought while pretending that it’s him filling up the blonde.

“Come on baby,” Crowley urges. “Are you close? Tell me how good I feel inside you.”

The blonde is letting out a whine now, and Crowley can practically hear him begging for more. Begging for him to finish the job. Crowley would love to do nothing more. He drops his binoculars and focuses on the rutting angel from afar. His unused hand dips to his lower abdomen, rubbing where the blonde’s ass would pump back against his body.

“Fuck, please,” Crowley begs. “God! I need you! Take in every last inch of me! Every last drop!”

His hips surge forward and he comes in time with the blonde. A sticky mess saturates his fist and spills out onto the hardwood floor. He doesn’t fucking care. Gasping as he wheels backward, Crowley lands bonelessly onto the bed in his room. He pretends the angel’s flushed face is pressed up against his.

“I love you,” the redhead confesses into the air. “Fuck, you undo me.”

He sits up eventually, his entire body tingling with remnants of sweet sensation. He fishes up his binoculars and it takes him a moment to relocate his angel’s apartment. In time, he lands on the right window, but the angel is nowhere to be seen.

Feeling frantic, Crowley moves from room to room, until at last he lands upon the blonde’s bedroom. His angel is standing there, naked as he came for anyone to see. He’s smiling smugly and leaning against the cool window. Slowly, he lifts a black object in his hands and holds it to his eyes. A pair of binoculars. They aim directly at Crowley’s flat and the blonde gives a little wave.

Crowley’s mouth drops open. “I’ll be damned,” he says to himself.

The angel breathes hot air against the pane and scribbles out a number before retreating into the dark confines of his flat. Crowley focuses on the message and smiles to himself. It’s a phone number next to a doodle of angel’s wings. Now that's an invitation he can't refuse.


End file.
